Page 92 of Crown of Roses
Rowan slid the book from her hands and tossed it lightly onto the bed behind him without even looking back. He cupped her face like she was a treasure, something he’d waited for his entire life “And what, dear Princess, did you have a mind?”
“A kiss.” She deliberately rubbed herself against him, ensured he felt the swell of her breasts against his solid abdomen.
He slammed both hands on the wall above her head, still refusing to touch her. “Only a kiss?”
She shrugged, a pointed display meant to rouse him. “And maybe other things.”
There was no response, and no time to think. His mouth covered hers and he tasted like fresh rain and misty mountains. Tempting and alluring all at once. His fingers threaded through her hair, angling her, deepening their kiss. His tongue traced the seam of her lips, and she opened for him, loving the slight graze of his teeth while he nipped and sucked on her tongue and lips. She arced into him, guiding his roughened palms down to the sides of her breasts, to her waist, then hips. She dragged her ankle up the back of his leg, and hooked it around his waist. Her body was on fire, everywhere he touched was electric, and sent spasms of desire rocketing through her system. Every inch of her wanted him. Every inch of her wanted to be touched. Tasted. She squirmed in his arms, urging herself closer to him, grinding her hips against the hardened length of him.
Rowan groaned and her muscles bunched and clenched. They were wound so tightly, she thought for sure she’d combust. Nerves she didn’t even know existed screamed with the need for release. Her breasts ached, and her blood thrummed, wrapping her in a blanket of sexual desire. He gripped her ass, then hoisted her other leg around him so she was anchored against him. He pinned her against the wall. A gasp, and a cry of pleasure, tore from her throat when he wedged his erection snugly between her thighs. Anytime he rocked his hips, he rubbed her budding bundle of nerves, and it was all she could do to keep from whimpering. Between the solid build of his body, and the friction from her leggings, Maeve nearly toppled over the edge.
“Rowan.”
“Yes, Princess?” He smiled, and his lavender eyes flashed. He nuzzled her neck, flicked his tongue along the bottom of her ear. Her nails scoured his flesh. “Do you need something?”
She relished in the way his hair moved through her fingers like satin, then she dragged his mouth to her own. Their noses touched, and he inhaled. Expectant. Waiting. Carefully, she ran her teeth along his bottom lip, then sucked it into her mouth. “Do not make me beg.”
He swore, briefly. “This is why you shouldn’t wear these damned leggings. It makes it far too difficult to get to you when I want.”
“I’ll keep that in mind for next time.”
Rowan looked down at her, and his gaze skimmed every inch of her body. “There’s so many laces, and bindings, and buttons.”
“Wait.” She closed her hand over his when he reached for the leather knot holding her bodice in place. “Not here.”
She didn’t want Tiernan to know, or hear, or smell. She didn’t want him to mock her, or ridicule her for feeling lust for a fae. For a creature she’d been bred to despise. But Rowan wasn’t like the rest of them. He saved her. He came back for her. She told herself not to be stupid. She’d spoken with enough fae to know the rules and understand the implications. There would be no love here, no adoration. It was merely consensual. A basic, carnal instinct. She knew better than to get wrapped up in the vices of Faeven, in believing, in trusting he would always have her best interests at heart. Just as she knew it was a dangerous game, but one she was willing to play. Because for a slice of time, for a moment of her miserable existence, he showed her what it was to be wanted.
“I know a place.” He leaned down, threaded his fingers through hers, then grazed kisses along her knuckles. “Do you trust me?”
“Yes.”
Rowan pulled her into him, and the rise of magic overwhelmed her. Filled her. The world fell away, blurred out of sight as they faded. The colors of Summer whirled around her, a spiral of such intense beauty, her heart started to race. Adrenaline pumped through her veins, fast but fleeting. And when at last she touched back down on the ground, her feet were bare and the whisper of cotton played along her ankles.
Rowan had glamoured her. Gone were her leggings and bodice, with all its straps and laces, and in its place was a silvery blue dress. The fabric was light and soft, a cloud upon her skin. It dipped low in the front, and draped off her shoulders, the sleeves just long enough to cover her cuffs. The gown billowed around her, alive with a magic of its own.
Cool, damp grass tickled her toes, and towering trees stretched up overhead, their full and lush branches an umbrella of shade. Sunlight sprinkled in, dappling the leaves, and a rainbow of flowers unfurled in splendid blooms, soaking up every ray. A river ran along the tall, grassy banks, leading to a waterfall where the pool was such a brilliant shade of blue, it reminded her of crushed sapphires. Her skin sizzled with the kiss of Summer, and when she looked over to Rowan, he was already stripping off his shirt. She drank him in, and a splinter fractured her heart when she saw the depth of his torture. Raised scars twisted along corded muscle. They lashed in ugly lines around his abdomen, cut up to his shoulders, and across his torso. Wounds her mother inflicted.
He caught her watching him.
“I’m sorry.” The words fell from her lips like a croak. Apologies would never be enough. There wouldn’t ever be anything she could do to remedy him, to erase the memory of what he’d been forced to endure under Carman’s hand.
“You,” he snatched her hand and pulled her close, “have nothing to apologize for. This is the work of your mother. Not of you.”
Her nose stung a bit, a little tingling burn. The promise of tears.
“Ssh, Princess.” He wiped away a fallen tear with his thumb, then brushed her cheek. Her lips. “Don’t cry for me.”
Maeve jerked her head away. Even looking at him felt like an admission of guilt. “I wish I had known, I could’ve stopped her.”
“You and I both know there is only one way to stop her.”
One way. Death.
“Want to go for a swim?” Rowan asked, pulling her from her regret. He nudged her toward the shallow pool, but she dug her heels into the soft earth.
“No.” It didn’t matter if the waterfall looked magnificent, if she could imagine the cool water coasting over her heated body. She didn’t care if the air was fragrant with…plumeria, and other bursting blooms. And it wasn’t at all appealing to imagine Rowan drenched, with rivulets of water sliding down his chest and back, and the sun glistening off his tanned skin while he hovered over top of her.
Maeve clenched her legs together, but the motion wasn’t lost on Rowan. His brow arched in amusement.
